No.

The Princess woke with a gasp. Her dark, tepid bedroom replaced the hot, glowing dungeon. The sweat seemed to have remained, however, and a lingering heat between her legs belied the searing sensations of pleasure being a dream.

Xalendra squirmed in sticky, tangled sheets, wrestling them aside to bare her sweat-slick body in the night air. It was little relief, so she pushed her way panting to the edge of the bed, a fuzzy cognizance somehow acute only at her erogenous points.

She licked her lips to swallow back the shame the dream left her, tugging at the patches of her bodice that clung to her skin, lamenting the damp patch on her stockings that would not be alleviated so easily. Eventually her gaze fell upon the dream-catcher hanging from her bedpost, realization taking hold.

The laced hoop was the culprit of her nightmare, she was sure. She rose to walk over and take it, reaching with an uncertain hand. When she did, a flash of the dream-dragon assailed her mind, sending a shiver through her that coalesced between her legs and at the peaks of her breasts.

The moment passed in an instant, yet the feeling still lingered. The dream-catcher appeared as ordinary as ever in her hand. Xalendra feared it would infiltrate her sleep again, but there had been some excitement to it that tugged her mind toward a need for resolution—an effect of its power, perhaps? That much spurred her away from wanting to keep it.

But how would she get rid of it? She was still so tired, and calling up her handmaiden to dispose of the thing would be quick and easy. As would tossing it out the window, she supposed, but she did pay good money for it. As she held it in her hand, the tingling of her lust inside her, letting its dream play out began to appeal the slightest bit...